


Sabretooth Mpreg Fic

by KPenDragon



Series: Creed Family writings [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Mpreg, Past Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-02
Updated: 2009-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KPenDragon/pseuds/KPenDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor Creed, also known as the ruthless killer Sabretooth, starts to feel something strange going on with his body. Something he's felt once before, and swore he would never let happen again. Now he has to figure out how this happened, who did it to him, and all without telling his companion what's going on.</p>
<p>(Please ignore the lame title)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sabretooth Mpreg Fic

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first story I wrote that began to formally spawn my "Creed Family" canon(s). I wrote this based off of the comic-verse originally, but it's loose enough that it fit in with my Evolution-verse.

This couldn't be happening. It was impossible. There was no way this could've happened again. Not unless...

He growled as the memories stung sharp and fresh in his mind, as if it was merely days, and not decades ago that the "incident"...even calling it that made it sound dirty, which it was! Just thinking about what they made him do, with that "thing"...it just set his blood boiling. Then the idea flashed; it had to have been that "thing"! There was no other explanation. Though how and when...that didn't matter; it just made him even madder.

He snarled now, getting up. He had a goal in mind. He was off to go rip a throat out AFTER he found out how and why this happened. When and where the runt had decided to knock him up...

\---

_Several Weeks Earlier..._

Victor Creed, better known as Sabertooth, was known for his cold blooded killings, his high prices, his quick healing, his rough treatment of women, and his ability to hold his liquor. Today though...he wasn't really working any of those. He'd stumbled into his private bathroom somewhere in the middle of the night, and had curled up at the base of the empty hot tub/whirl pool in the center of the marble flooring; something about being in a low basin always comforted him strangely enough...

"Mister Creed!" there was another loud set of banging on the locked door into the large room; he tried to cling to the empty darkness of unconsciousness. "Mister Creed!!"

He snarled, //That lady just won't give up will she.// He uncurled and stretched before climbing out of the stone hole. A few of his joints cracked, but he still felt sore and stiff. //That's what I get for sleeping in a rock bowl,// he thought to himself as he unbolted the door and tore it open before the woman on the other side could barrage the door with another pounding a vocal assault. As a result she hit him square in the chest instead; before she could pull away he grabbed her wrist in his death grip, claws just barely nicking into the skin.

"WHAT!" he hissed that as he yelled it right in her face.

His sudden appearance and out burst surprised her. Out of reflex she jerked her wrist back, causing his claw-like nails to draw real blood, but she didn't pull harder than that; she knew better than that.

"Sleep in the tub again?" she tried to keep the snarky note in her tone.

"So what if I did," he jerked her forward, hissing him her face, pupil less white eyes glaring with malice into her placid blue. "Got a problem with that, do ya Birdy?"

"Oh I don't. Just wanted to know what excuse to give Chao Wang, you know, the patron of the _Hong Se Long_ , the rich Red Dragon Society who scheduled a meeting with you an hour ago 2 months ago..."

"Shit!" he snarled, throwing her wrist out of his gasp and turning back quickly into the bathroom, trying to quickly clean himself up. "Stall 'em."

"What do you think I've been doing for the past 2 hours," she growled, crossing her arms in the doorway.

His eyes snapped to her viciously from where he could see her in the mirror's reflection. She returned to him her own dirty look but turned away and walked off down the hall. He watched her go in the reflection until she turned the corner at the end of the hallway. Now he looked at himself in the mirror, looked at his disheveled state. Admittedly, he never looked "prim and proper" to begin with, but lately...

He ran the cold water at the sink then splashed a few handfuls in his face, shaking off whatever thoughts would've come up. Now wasn't the time to be remembering things; now was the time to get back on his game. He pulled back his unruly blonde hair as he wound down the hall, making a stop in his bedroom to grab his robe. He shouldered on the worn flannel thing as he came down the stairs, making a be line into the dining room where the video conference was set up.

"Ah and here he is now," the blonde woman said, but then she got a look at what he'd come down in. //And we couldn't have made ourselves more presentable, nooooo, that would've been too smart a thing to do!//

He ignored her scowl, and came strolling right on in like the king of the castle he was. "Well, well, do I say good morning or good afternoon to you chinks."

Birdy mentally groaned. The oriental man on the wall sized video monitor did not look amused. On his side of the conversation, he sat in an office, probably using a cheap webcam, that was adorned with classical Chinese artifacts and tacky modern art, as well as a pair of thugs. It wasn't that much of a contrast to Creed's own ornate dinning room (that he rarely used) that had some of his prior trophies and "gifts from clients" decorating it; Birdy wasn't much of an interior decorator. What was the major contrast here was that the oriental man was darker in tones; dark short manicured hair, in a dark red suit that was nearly black. His well kempt state was vastly the opposite of Creed's own half dressed, burly appearance. And it was that amount of lack-luster professionalism that was turning his potential client off.

"Well, I can see the good Mister Creed knows the value of time."

"Hey, the only time worth anything is mine," he spat, placing his hands on the cherry wood top of the table, and leaning forward to emphasize his next words. "Now why you trying to waste mine?"

Birdy again mentally groaned; he usually wasn't this bad with first time clients. The oriental man also seemed offended by this verbal treatment.

"Mister Creed, I don't believe you understand the situation here. We do not need to be doing business..."

"Now hold it right there," he growled, cutting him off. "Don't you go telling me what I do and don't understand you communist bastard," he spat the last insult. "YOU don't understand the situation YOU are in. If you could go and do business with someone else, you would be. I'M the last resort here bud, so it's either my way, or the highway. You understand what I'm saying here."

It was deathly silent for several moments as the second party considered his bold and brash words. On this end, Birdy was on edge; this was a larger large and potentially fruitful account and here he was not even trying not to throw it away and he wasn't even caring! Though she took a closer look at him, and for a faint few seconds she thought she noticed him sweating; he never sweated under pressure. It wasn't pressure though, but what it was he didn't know either; it was the same feeling that had driven him into the tub last night, and the night before, but what it was, he had no idea. But now wasn't the time to worry about it, because the oriental man's voice cut clear into his thoughts.

"We'll be sending you the dosie' immediately, and expect progress reports along the way."

"And my money," he smirked, knowing that this would be the outcome in the end.

"The initial payment will be wired immediately as discussed with your assistant Mister Creed. The rest will be added after the completion."

Again, Creed smirked. "Pleasure doing business with you chinks," and he cut the connection to the video link.

Now he would've been able to relax, he should've. But no, she just wouldn't let him now.

"I can't believe you."

He growled, turning a sharp eye at her. Birdy was not impressed with how he'd just acted, despite the fact that it hadn't lost the account.

"I can't believe that you'd insult them like that...no, I do believe it, but right to their faces! You have better manners than that, and a better level of professionalism. Of all idiotic, irresponsible..."

The rest was lost on him. That feeling from earlier washed over him quite suddenly; all at once he was both hot and cold, and felt as if his insides were being torn apart right from within him. It was a weakness, the likes he hadn't felt before, but a weakness none the less, and in his line of work, weakness was the enemy. he growled low and hard at himself for this unknown feeling, and held his head as it's pounding added to the discomfort.

"Would you just put a can in it Birdy!" he snapped at her.

She scowled, crossing her arms. "Fine, don't even listen to me," she turned sharply, heading out of the dinning room. "Your stupid breakfast is in the kitchen, or should i say your stupid lunch!"

The mention of food made his insides tighten, and heightened his senses realizing that it was just in the next room. The mere thought of the food though...it magnified the weakness he was feeling; it made him feel sick. Luckily, his bathroom upstairs wasn't the only one in the house; unluckily he had to go through the kitchen to get to it. As he passed the plate set out at the kitchen island, he almost couldn't make it to his destination; the sight and smell of it all hit him hard what with his heightened senses. But he did make it, couldn't shut the door before his guts forced their way out of him and into the porcelain bowl, but at least he made it.

This went on for several minutes, with several upheavals. And after each, just when he thought it was over, there'd be another. So after the third or fourth time, he resigned to just sitting there, beside it, trying to control his breathing. He really did look like a mess, half dressed as he was, disheveled and half dressed, practically curled up around the toilet; this was worse than the worst hangover in his memory.

//Hangover?// he rested his head back, closing his eyes, trying to remember the last time he'd had enough to drink to get drunk. //Yeah, like a long lasting one. Damn bitch drugged me...//

\----

_A Few Months Earlier..._

He sat at the bar, throwing back his third or fourth logger. He rarely spent time in Rio, but took every opportunity he could to come down for a job, like the one he'd just finished. And now, he was allowed a little celebration for a job well done. And what was a better thing to add to a celebration, than a hott girl in bed. Unfortunately, this particular bar was lacking that, greatly. He could always just sneak out into the night and grab one after all...the thrill of the chase and coercing her was always fun after all... 

But then as if answering his thoughts, as he put down his newly emptied drink sitting beside him at the bar was one of the most gorgeous women he'd ever seen, and he'd seen quite allot in all his years. She sat there in a deep red cocktail dress-his favorite color that showed off his favorite parts-with a long plaited braid in platinum gold trailing down well past her waist. Her eyes were the most vibrant shade of emerald, and had such a dangerous depth to them. He was immediately entranced by her.

"I'll 'ave vat 'e's 'aving," she said to the bartender in a light European accent.

He chuckled, leaning forward, resting one arm on the bar. "And you think you handle what I got little lady?"

"Oh iz not vor me," she looked him straight in the eye, not flinching under his demonic eyes like most women have and had. "Iz vor you,"

"Oh really? You think I can't pay for my own drinks then?" he wasn't saying that for any other reason than to flirt, though his flirting still sounded like he was wanting to tear her apart for it.

"Hardly," she was given the drink, and lightly ran her finger around the rim of the glass. "It just looked to me zat you vere in need ov zomevone to talk to vas all."

"Well I was thinking less talking and more of something else...if you get what I'm saying."

Perhaps it was from the alcohol, perhaps it was just her open and invitingness, hell it was probably just the fact that he could practically see right through the dark red gossamer of her dress, but he ran his hand over her exposed thigh. She smiled genuinely, which was something he wasn't accustomed to so it threw him off a little bit, but it just seemed right...

She slid the drink his way. "I vouldn't vant it any other vay."

He grinned and took the offered drink, downing it all at once. The next set of events became a blur. They went back to the roach motel he'd be spending the night at; she didn't complain. And then the next hours melted into nothing discernable. When he woke up to 3 am a day later he found he was alone, and the hotel manager was shouting at him to vacate. But that didn't matter, she was gone; she'd left no sign she was ever there, he didn't even know her name.

He figured she must have drugged him to knock him out that badly. It made him mad that he'd let someone use him like that again, and yet he had to smirk; if he had to have been used, at least it was by a gorgeous woman.

\----

With those last thoughts though, he was regretting that. Who knows what had happened to him while he was out, what she could've done to him. For all he knew, this feeling he was having now was all her fault.

"Hey."

The voice broke him from his thoughts; he looked up and saw Birdy looking in on him from the open doorway, with a real note of concern.

"You look like hell."

He growled and got up, feeling that his stomach was settled finally. He readjusted his robe now, closing it with his hand but not with the tie; for some reason he felt vulnerable like that, and he didn't enjoy that feeling anymore than he did the earlier one. He didn't look her in the eye as he brushed past her, forcing her out of the way.

"It's just your damn excuse for grub," he spat as he exited the kitchen, staying focused on getting out of there.

At first Birdy took offense to that, muttering some derogatory aimed at him, but when she went to clear away the breakfast plate she noticed something; the food was untouched. She looked to where her employer had left, confused now. She would've believed her cooking had done it, though it never had before, but if it wasn't her cooking, then what could've done that to the mighty Sabertooth?

\----

_Target: Roulette_  
First Name: unknown  
Last Name: Kitsch  
Last Known Location: Quebec, Canada  
Known Aliases: 

And the list went on and on with aliases and her abilities and an assortment of photographs that seemed to depict a series of different women.

//So a shape shifter,// he mused to himself as he flipped through the sheets again, rereading some parts. //I hate Quebec though...// then something caught his attention on the dosie'

_Known Family: Son, age 4, Jesse Kitsch; father unknown_

//So...the bitch has a pup. Should make it easier to track her then.//

He tossed the file onto the desk and sigh-growled, rubbing a sudden sore spot on his forehead; he was accustomed to head aches, but these seemed different somehow, these made him tired and long to curl up in the tub.

"Head bothering you?"

He looked up and saw the blonde woman standing at the doorway, watching him. For how long she'd been there, he didn't know and that just made him madder.

Creed growled. "What do you want Birdy, I'm busy here."

She stepped in, coming over carefully, watching him; which he didn't like. "I could ask you the same thing Mister Creed."

He gave her a warning look accompanied by a growl. She just ignored that and continued.

"You know, it's been a while since we..."

"You concerned that I won't be needing your expertise anymore, is that it Birdy?" he smirked with his accusation. "Well here then," he pushed the file he'd been reading earlier towards her. "Look up the brat's name on flight lists, cross check with both her parent's names, and her aliases. The best lie is the one based in truth."

She took the file, but didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "I'm not concerned, just..."

"Worried over my mental state," he chuckled mirthlessly at that idea. "Please, we both know you only care about where your next meal is coming from."

She glared at him, and snatched away the file. "As if. I'll get right on this," and she turned stiffly, stalking out of there.

Normally he'd chuckle, or yell some derogatory after her; it was always fun to make fun of her when she showed any bit of interest in him after all. But this time...something was wrong. He almost...felt bad for pushing her away like that. And when he realized that, made the connection, it metaphorically made him sick.

He shook the feeling off and got up to go to the mini bar he also kept in the study, and poured himself a drink, trying to distract from those odd feelings. Instead his thoughts drifted to the other thing she'd said; it had been a long while since he'd needed her to use "the glow" to go into his mind and sort through his bad memories. He'd been sleeping unplauged at night, by dreams anyways, and his days were unhindered by the screams imbedded into his memory...was he really fixed, did he really not need her anymore?

Of course not! He'd always need Birdy for something or other, right? He was dependant...And he made it stop there; dependency was a sign of weakness. He couldn't be dependant on Birdy; he was just using her. She was easy to replace if he so fancied to, and that was by far the opposite of dependency. Being dependant meant that he cared, and he didn't care about her in the least bit; the only thing he cared about was himself, and that was never going to change.

A glass shattered; Birdy came quickly at that sound. She found the usual proud Sabertooth gripping the bar practically for dear life, panting raggedly, half doubled over; the shattered had been from a bottle of whiskey being knocked off of the bar.

"Mister Creed are you," she tried to get over to him quickly, to make sure he was alright.

He snarled more in pain, than at her. "Get out."

"But you're..."

"I SAID GET OUT!!" he roared, nearly slicing up her front with his free set of claws.

She backed off, but didn't leave; something was clearly wrong here and whatever it was, was not good. He was still in pain, an unexplained, unimaginable sort of pain, and he didn't need her seeing him deal with this. He snarled again, shooting her a very sharp and dangerous glare, screaming at her with his eyes to leave. She reluctantly started to back up under that stare. Unfortunately, the pain started to win out as she was close to the door, and he collapsed finally.

"Mister Creed!" she rushed back across the room to him, forgetting for the moment that from one swipe of his claws she'd be sliced bree easily. "Mister Creed," she touched his shoulder, trying to bring him back to consciousness, without success. "Victor talk to me!"

But he was gone; his breath was a ragged pant, unconscious, but face contorted in a mental anguish he surely was reliving after decades of being forgotten...

\----

_A Few Decades Earlier..._

The harsh scent of iodine and the crackle of the Florissants over heard made his head scream, what with his heightened senses. 

"Give him twice the maximum dosage of sedative. We don't need him waking up in the middle of the hermapabic grafting."

And then there was nothing for a long time, but all he could feel were those crackles and that smell; it made him want to thrash, to hold his head and cry out. But the restrains...

His eyes snapped open now and he found he wasn't in the laboratory anymore, he wasn't strapped down to the operating table anymore. He instead was in a large dark room; he wasn't alone, he could the presence of another, he could smell them. He stayed still, listening in the darkness, trying to figure all of this out. There were no retrains, no table, no Florissants to drive him crazy...so what was going on then...

The lights suddenly came to life; the effect made him literally jump. The Florissant bars flickered a few times, coming up to full life; those damn Florissant lights...

He looked around now, ready for any sort of attack. The room was empty; the walls were barren, there were no doors or windows. He looked up at the ceiling and saw what was most likely the way in and out; a large circular cut out with a series of vents surround it, all were sealed now though. And then in each corner of the room was a camera; they were watching him...

The smell of blood reminded him that he wasn't alone here; they were watching them then... He spun around and found the other; the shorter, dark haired man seemed to have much the same reaction to the situation he had, until he saw who he was in the room with.

"Well, well, lookit what the cat dragged in," he smirked, showing off his fangs with his maliciously glinting pupil less eyes. "Wolverine..."

"What're we doing here Creed."

"You're guess is as good as mine runt, but I know what to do to make the best of this."

He lunged at him now. Wolverine dodged that and spun, extending his blow-like claws to parry the attack. The two of them went at it like that for several minutes, fighting between themselves; one would try to slash through the other and would get mostly clothing, the other would do the same and whatever damage they could get landed would be undone quickly by the other's healing factor.

Elsewhere in the laboratory complex, they were indeed watching their subjects’ progression on monitors. They watched them fight; trying to tear into one another, like the animals they had made them into.

"At the rate they're going, they'll have each other sliced into ribbons before we can get to stage two."

"Patience," the head scientist spoke, not taking his eyes away from the monitors.

"But look at them. If they keep at it like this..."

"Their healing abilities are fueled by adrenaline if you'll remember. This is the quickest way for the graftings to take final hold."

"But at this rate, there's no way for them to even use them if they're too riled up from fighting one another."

"That's where the pheromones come in," he turned now to one of the technicians at the controls. "Release the gas."

The technician nodded and pressed a sequence of buttons on the control panel. Then on the monitors, the small group could see that the vents on the ceiling were opening and a very light rose colored gas started to filter into the closed off chamber.

"Now just watch and see..."

Back in the chamber the two combatants didn't notice the change in the atmosphere around them they were far too engulfed in their personal wars with one another. But it was still affecting them; both their heightened senses brought in the foreign agent, and let it start to work through their systems. Their movements started to shift; their fight almost seemed to be more of a dance...a strange and alarming dance. And before either of them could realize what was happening... 

Wolverine lunged at Sabertooth, the second toppled back from the force with his opposer still on him. There was no hatred in his eyes though; something far more dangerous was a flamed there. Lust ravaged through the both of them, uncontrollable and unexplainable lust. What was left of unshredded clothing was quickly shredded the rest of the way off. They both ignored the knicks and scrapes the other gave as they intertwined to one another.

That though, brought up another fight to them; a fight for dominance. There was growling, and biting, and scratching between the two of them; the wild dog and the feral cat going at it. You would think that with their differences in statute it would be an easy win, and yet the first stroke came a sharp wrenching pain...

"Make note of this," the lead scientist said. "Wolverine achieved penetration at exactly 15:17."

"Do we really need to be watching this sir," one of the more greener technicians asked, trying to keep the disgust from his voice. "This is..."

"Nothing more than two wild animals," he cut him off. "If you can't take this, then I suggest you go home and watch the Discovery Channel instead."

Meanwhile back in the chamber it continued uninterrupted. The sharp pain as the man on top of him thrust in and out of him. He both wanted to throw him off and beg for more; to kill him and kiss him so to speak. It was wrong, all of it was wrong; he was not one to submit, to be taken, to be used like this. And yet, it just seemed so right...

"Oh my god, Victor..."

That voice. It broke him from the painful confliction just long enough to look away from his impromptu lover to see a blue haired woman standing off in the corner, watching them. She hadn't been there before...she looked so...so...why did he feel like he should know her, feel like there was something...

He arched in pain as his lover hit the wrong spot; the pain brought him back to his senses, brought him back to reality. He couldn't change what was happening, but he knew who could. He looked back over, panting raggedly, but still found the woman there.

His voice was a ragged whisper, it pained him to speak, let alone ask, but still, "Birdy..."

\----

He shot up, panting raggedly, wild eyed. Slowly he started to come to his senses, his surroundings came into focus. He was still in his study; the whiskey bottle was smashed on the floor, the liquor staining the carpet. He was lying on the floor, and beside him was the woman who'd entered his memory...

"Birdy?"

She sat up slowly, looking at him strangely; not that her look was strange, but that it wasn't the normal look that she gave him...it unnerved him...it was almost...but it couldn't be. Was she pitying him?

"Victor, I..."

He growled now, his anger growing as he realized that that was exactly what it was; she was pitying him! What more, she'd seen what had happened at that insane laboratory...and that was why she was pitying him? That just made him even madder. He got to his feet now, slightly shaky so he used the bar for some support; it felt like what he'd just seen he'd gone through again...

"Mister Creed, wait," she moved to get up to help him.

He snarled and pushed her away. "Get away from me you bitch! What have I told you about getting into parts of my head I don't want you in!"

"You blacked out, and I thought if I..."

"That's the problem!" he roared. "You don't think!"

"But I just-"

He growled, looking over his shoulder to her sharply, venomously. "Get out."

"Victor-"

"Get out of my house and my life Birdy or so help me the next time I see you," he let the threat hang there as he managed his way out of the study.

She was taken a back by those words. They'd fought before, over similar things, but he had never verbally thrown her out before. Under any other circumstances she would have yelled right back at him, kept the fighting going, but in his current state, and that memory...She'd felt sorry for him with other things she'd seen from his past, but in some way she'd always found a way to point out to herself that it was still his fault, but this one...she just couldn't let it go.

Victor Creed...Sabertooth...had been raped...

\----

He'd been finding himself curled up at the basin of the marble spa quite often lately. For some reason it calmed him down in a way he couldn't describe really. But it was still comforting, which also scared him a little. Less though than remembering that incident though...maybe that was because this comforting feeling was fighting that pain away...

How could Birdy have gone in and pulled that memory, of all memories out in his head, hu? The mixture of the pain, and anger, and...dare it even be suggested, embarrassment, of that moment...the only good thing about that moment was that he was the only one that remembered it. Well, now him and Birdy...damn that girl! How could she have even found it? He'd buried in the back of him mind a long time ago, back where even she couldn't get at it.

She'd once said, after one of their sessions, that the memories would surface if they had some connection to present events. At the time he hadn't questioned it, mainly because he was still caught up in the after effects of "the glow", but now...could it be because of the fact that he had that night in Rio he couldn't remember? So one very bad sexual incident would be mentally connected to another?

That was far too much in-depth psycho babble for him to care or to think about right now. As it is it made his head hurt, which made other parts of him hurt more. He just wanted to curl up in that basin, and tear his own spleen out it was that bad, but instead he heard the door open, and light foot steps come over to the edge of the tub.

"I figured I'd find you here."

He growled a little under his breath, but didn't look up. "I thought I told you to get out."

Birdy sat at the edge of the tub, and leaned enough down to offer him a small file of papers. "First you told me to do the recon on the Dragon hit."

He sighed a little and rolled onto his back to reach up and take the file; she spoke as he flipped through to look at her findings.

"I found a passport for a "Remy LeBeau Jr." in the US registry, and I traced that back to one of her aliases "Cheryl LeBeau", and I traced that to a..."

"Where are they now then," he growled a little, not fond of her long drawn out explanations.

"They should be in New York in two days. Customs and a few eyes place them in Weimar right now."

"Two tickets to New York I see. Didn't I fire you."

"Consider it severance then," she started to get up. "We'll finish this job, then you can come back on your own and I'll stay there."

He didn't give her an answer to that. She took that as answer enough and headed for the door, but paused at the doorway.

"About what I saw..."

"You didn't see anything," he stretched a little, trying to work out some cramping before getting up and out of the tub.

She wanted to say something, but couldn't find any sort of words that would match together for the situation. She looked back and found him right behind her now; it surprised her a little, but then again, she should've been used to it.

"Do you mind," he growled a bit.

She then realized she was in the way, so she moved allowing him to pass. She watched him go down the hall a little bit, and managed to find her voice before he went into his bedroom.

"I could take it away you know. Like I have before."

He stopped cold; he had considered it since it had happened, seeing as she now knew. But just the thought of going through that again...

"Can you switch those tickets for an earlier flight."

She blinked; that wasn't any sort of answer to her question. "I can, when do you..."

"An hour ago."

"Why? The mark isn't supposed to be back for another two days."

"I've got a few errands I'd like to run."

She nodded. "Alright, I'll see what I can do," she started off down the hall, but before she got to the corner, he made one last comment.

"Don't pack it all up," she looked back at those words; he was looking at her now. "You pull another stunt like that though, and your hide is mine, you understand that."

She nodded. "Wouldn't have it any other way Mister Creed."

\----

Last minute hotel reservations were a pain to get, but Birdy managed it as she always did. They moved into the first one the first night, the second the next. Even though they had separate rooms, she still kept a eye on him. First night he slept, which was odd for when they were out on a job, but she let him; he'd stayed up the entire plane ride, writing things down that she didn't dare try to take a peak at, but whatever it was it seemed to distress and agitate him. Not that anyone else would've been able to have seen the difference, but she could...

Second night he went out. She didn't follow, and halfly didn't dare going into his room to check things out. But after 3 hours, and he was still gone, she did it. It was easy to break into the old key locked door, and then she easily slipped into the room. The room itself was pretty bare; not usually barrenness that they purposely left, but more like an unlived in kind. She found the reason why though; the bathroom had all of his things in it.

//The tub thing again?// she just shook her head, not understanding the fascination her boss had for sleeping in them these days.

But what was the biggest thing were the sheets of paper on the sink counter; papers they'd brought, papers he'd picked up, all written on the backsides on it his haphazard script. Most of it was babble, things she couldn't read or understand. But the big part that she did were the series of calendars scrolled across a few of them. He was counting days? But why? She shuffled the pages and found the start of the counting, and something about the dates pricked the back of her memory, but she couldn't place why...then counting forward up to roughly 280 days those dates were familiar too; roughly 4 months ago was the last account in Rio that he'd gone on solo.

She just passed it off and looked at the next sheet, covered in all its scribbling. She wished for life of her she could figure this out; it was clear that whatever this meant was bothering him. And that he would let her help him with it. Birdy sighed, putting the pages back down as close to the way she'd found them as she could, then looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"C'mon Bernadette, you know the rules. You aren't allowed to start feeling things for the psychopath."

"So, your name is "Bernadette"."

She spun around quickly and found a short, dark haired man standing there in the doorway. She tensed quickly, mentally kicking herself for not bringing any sort of a weapon with her. Here she was, defenseless. She might not have met this man before, but she'd seen him in Creed's memories...

"Only if your name is "Runt"," she spat back.

He narrowed his ice blue eyes at her. "Been talking to an old friend of mine I see," he stepped into the room now, making her step back in between the toilet and the tub. "Smells like he hasn't been here for a while, know where I could find him."

"If I did do you think I'd be telling you."

"You would if you knew what was good for you," his eye was drawn to the papers now; he picked them up, scanning each of them quickly.

She wanted to rebuke him, snatch them away, but the look of understanding that washed across his face made her more curious, made her want to know even more.

"You can read that, you understand it?"

He didn't answer, just dropped the papers and turned to go.

"Hey, I asked you a question!" she moved to follow, to stop him. "Are you deaf or-"

He turned fast, his adamantium claws jutting from the back of his hand, inches from her throat.

"Like I said girly, if you knew what was good for you," and with that, he retracted his claws and again continued to exit.

She just stayed back, stunned at the similarity. But she shook it off; the wolverine was nothing like her boss, and that was the way it was going to stay. Still...she looked at the papers, the indecipherable papers...he had understood them, and if they were similar enough, then judging by his reaction, what they said, wasn't good...

\----

While Wolverine had gone looking for him at his hotel, Sabertooth was looking for him, and thus far, the search wasn't ending up that fruitful. Strange, normally he wouldn't care about being incognito about this; the man wore bright yellows and browns and scaled the side of buildings after all so he wasn't a stranger for attention. But this situation...he couldn't afford it getting out, couldn't afford the loss of his reputation. So incognito was the way to go, even if it did slow him down.

He was leaving the 8th bar that night, trying to find some local watering hole his prey was accustomed to, to wait it out there for him, but so far none seemed to be right. Which lead him into wondering...if he was having this much problem finding him where he knows where he is, then how the hell had he found him in Rio?

And it had to have been Rio, the timing was right for that-how it had slipped his mind at the time he didn't know and cursed himself for it-and before Rio he was at his house with Birdy, and after he was at his house with Birdy. There was no way it could've happened EXCEPT in Rio...and there was no on else who would've known about it except...

"So I heard you were looking for me."

He stopped halfway down the street, catching the scent now that the wind shifted. He growled, cracking his knuckles as he turned around to find the man he'd spent the last 5 hours searching for.

"Well, well, there you are runt. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"Well if I knew you were looking," he let his claws extend out, with just the very faint scent of blood accompanying that act. "Now, why you looking for me again Creed?"

Sabertooth snarled, "You should know you bastard!" 

And with that he lunged for his old foe. Wolverine pulled back and parried his attack. But that wouldn’t stop Sabertooth for too long. The two of them fought right out in the open on the street, claw, tooth, and nail they fought. He was just so angry at him, at the situation, but especially at him. There was nothing that could even be compared to the level of hatred, and dare say it, even betrayal, that he was experiencing at that moment.

"How did you do it!" the enraged blonde demanded, as another of his strikes was blocked.

"How did I do what!?" he forced him back, putting distance between the two of them.

Creed panted, eyes still flaming, but narrowed dangerously at him. "You know what you did."

"Really now?" he was panting somewhat as well, and kept his icy stare on him as well. "And what do you think I've done this time?"

"Oh I don't think, I know! I have the proof this time," he lunged again, getting in a slash down his opponent's arm before he could block both his strikes. "You tracked me down in Rio, and without me knowing, somehow you...you..."

"Hate to break it to you bub, but I ain't been to Rio in a long time."

"You're a liar! It had to be you! You're the only one who...who..."

Wolverine grabbed his wrist, wrenching it back hard which made Sabertooth hiss at the snapping pain. The shorter man held him hard, cop styled, with his opponent’s arm pinned to his back.

"Hate to burst your bubble Creed," he growled, tightening his hold to make him hiss more. "But I'm not your baby-daddy."

His eyes widened then narrowed angrily as he ripped out of the grasp and threw Wolverine halfway across the street. He snarled, a little in pain, mostly in anger, as he snapped his wrist back into place, letting his ability mend it for him.

"You're a liar Logan. If it wasn't you then how could you know..."

"Well you're hiding the scent well enough, but maybe next time you shouldn't write it down on paper."

That just made him even angrier. Either what he was saying was true, it wasn't him in Rio AND he'd found his hotel, or it was him in Rio. Either way, he was angry, and scared, but he wouldn't admit to the second, so replace the fear with rage, and that's what he was feeling. So to channel that feeling, he again struck out to attack Logan. But in the instant that he did, an idea came to him; it repulsed him slightly that he would have to do one thing he swore he'd never do voluntarily, however it would solve his problems...

So when he was just inches from Wolverine's defensive strike, he let his guard down. It was too late for him to realize his opponent's plan to stop it, so at the very last second he shifted just enough to instead hit Creed full in the chest. Sabertooth was both surprised and angered by that, but mostly the surprise and the pain registered in his eyes. Logan shifted again, just enough to turn his claws in the chest wound and cause even more pain; Sabertooth growled.

"Passed up a perfect opportunity to run me through runt," he hissed; the blood loss was starting to become a bit apparent.

"Only fun if you aren't using me to for your own advantages."

He pulled out hard now, making him drop down to his knees on the asphalt. Sabertooth panted hard; seems like the cut had nicked the corner of his lung, but he still glared at him with deep seated hatred. Why couldn't he have just done it, saved them all the trouble and what not. Just for once, why couldn't he...

"Just finish it," he hissed.

"Be too easy a way out for you bub," he punched him now, and with him half out of it from blood loss, he went down, out and cold to the ground; Logan cracked his knuckles and started to walk away once he was sure he was down and out. "Good luck Creed, you're gonna need it."

\----

_A Few Decades Earlier..._

He sat curled up tightly in the corner as it hurt again. The pain refused to go away. Why was it refusing to go away! There had to be some way to make it stop, there just had to be. He didn't even want any of this to begin with! Ever since that day when they'd...he didn't even want to think back on that event; it just made him angry that he'd been used in such a way. He'd volunteered for this after all, so why treat him the same as that low life runt. This should be happening to him, and him alone. Why did he have to do it too...

Again it hurt, like he was being torn apart from the inside out. It was driving him insane! There had to be a way to stop this...then the idea struck him. He grinned in a sadistic way and uncurled just enough to let his claws out.

//Here we go, this should solve everything...//

And without a moment of hesitation he slashed across his own middle with his sharpened nails. He started to bleed, but it healed quickly enough; it was too shallow. He mentally cursed himself and plunged his claws in again, going deeper. Self mutilation was a new one for him, but at this point he didn't care about the pain, he just wanted it over with!

Again and again he tried to dig down into his gut, tried to find what he was looking for and dig it out. They must've seen him on the video monitors, figured out what he was up to because then came in the guards and technicians. It took four guys to hold and pin him back; he was thrashing and snarling, trying to side swipe anything that moved or came at him. once the brutes had him held, the technicians moved in; one with a sedative, and another pair with enough medical supplies to fix him up. He snarled, trying to trash but the brutes had him fast.

"No! Noooooooooooooo!" he howled as the sedative was administered. "No I want it out of me! You can't do this to me!"

"Oh, but we can indeed Mr. Creed," the technician moved aside as the head scientist stepped into the cell. "You did sign the waver."

"I never agreed to you guys fucking me over!" he snarled, but he was already feeling the effects of the sedative start to take hold. "You can't...you can't..."

"Oh I can and I have," he now turned his attention to the technicians. "Make sure you patch him up well, then make sure he can't repeat this. We don't want another episode like this to happen, now do we."

He gave it one last try to get free, but it wasn't nearly enough. The darkness invaded as he lost consciousness. But the last fleeting sounds he heard before he was fully gone were those of the scientist leaving, speaking to one of his technicians...

"It's a good thing we graphed it more to his back than his front, or else we surely would've lost it..."

\----

He woke up sometime later, not entirely sure how much time had passed. He tried to sit up, but his chest still burned. He moved to touch it, to asses the damage, but found it dressed already.

//Who the hell...// he heard a small sound and immediately tensed up.

The room was dark, either early start of the night, or early ending of it. So the only light came through the half shaded window, from the street lamp outside. But it was enough for him to see that he was not in the hotel he had left, but a different, more grungy one that most likely rented by the hour. But what mattered more was the figure sitting over in the corner across from the poor excuse for a bed he was in; the blonde woman sitting with her knees to her chest, her chin resting on her knees with a straight view to watch him. She was asleep now though, still in her watchful position, but asleep.

He decided to leave her that way. He quietly got up, though stiffly, and stepped around her sleeping form and went into the small bathroom. He made sure the door was shut before he pulled the pull chain to turn on the over hanging light bulb. But he found when the light was on though made him sick, literally. And it was that sound that woke her up. She stayed quiet though, waiting on him.

He regained himself after a few moments, and then took a look at himself in the dirty mirror; he really did look like hell. He grumbled a little to himself and clicked the light off before reopening the door to leave. Almost immediately he noticed the expectant blue eyes staring at him.

"What do you want," he growled, not enjoying being under the scrutiny of her gaze.

"What were you thinking?"

"What?"

"Wolverine, right," she got up now; she stood well below his height, but with her temper she might as well have been 7 feet taller. "What were you thinking going after him? Did you forget that we're here on a job."

He growled, turning away from her, moving away. "You wouldn't understand."

"Did you know that she's in league with them now."

"Who's with what," he really didn't feel up to arguing with her at the moment, and seeing as she apparently had found him after his altercation with the kanuck, he was willing to let her have out this one verbal war.

"Our target, the one the Red Dragon's paying us to take care of."

"Me," he mumbled. "They're paying me to do it, not "us"."

"You, us, it doesn't matter," she growled. "They know each other, so since one knows, the other will too and we loose the element of surprise."

He mumbled some unintelligible response to that; he was feeling quite tired now...probably from the lack of blood...speaking of blood, why was he suddenly...

"And now you're bleeding through," she threw her hands up in exasperation. "Lie down now."

Usually he'd've argued with her orders, but he was tired so did what she said. It took her a moment to realize that he'd actually listened to her for once, but she quickly shook it off and grabbed what she needed and started to redress his chest. While she did that he just closed his eyes, hoping that maybe the darkness of sleep might come, but she had other plans for him it seemed.

"No fuss over me ordering you around?"

"You wanna get your hands dirty playing nurse maid who am I to stop you."

"Are you feeling alright," she finally asked the main question on her mind; even some concern fell through into her voice. "Something seems wrong lately."

He growled a little warningly, not liking where her question could, and would lead.

She took the hint, but kept going anyways, "I mean, a wound like this usually took you 4-5 hours to heal from, and now...well it doesn't look much better than when I found you."

He peeked one eye open to take a look at himself with that statement. "Hu, wouldn't you know. You're right," he sighed very lightly, closing both eyes again. "How long was I out?"

"That I don't know. I found you nearly 18 hours ago in the street. We've been here for about 16. You were out for the entire time."

He nodded a little, figuring it probably took her anywhere from 2 hours to 20 minutes to find him. And with that amount of time lost, there was no doubt that his nemesis had alerted his friends that he was in town, and as Birdy had so pleasantly pointed out, ruined their element of surprise and chance to get the target. Normally that would bother him, actually anger him, but right now...right now he had bigger problems on his hands.

"Birdy..." now a thought occurred as he remembered what she'd said.

"What?" she was finishing up rebandaging his torso as she answered.

"Why'd you assume it was Wolverine who did this?"

She actually hesitated before she answered. "Who else would you have picked a fight with in New York who could do this sort of damage."

He growled. "Don't you lie to be girl."

She glared at him, despite the fact that he couldn't see her at the moment. "Fine, I caught him in your room at the hotel."

That made sense, he had mentioned that he "shouldn't write it on paper", so that would mean he'd been in his room...His eyes snapped open now, and he grabbed Birdy's wrist; the action nearly scared her half senseless.

"What're you-"

"What were you doing in my room Birdy," he hissed, warning that if the answer wasn't to his liking she'd end up loosing the whole arm.

She narrowed her eyes sharply at him. "I thought he was you."

"So you didn't see anything, didn't go snooping," it was an accusation, not a question.

"I know better than that," she hissed back at him.

He still wasn't satisfied with that as an answer, but it was good enough. He let her wrist go and she pulled it back protectively, rubbing it from his tight grip. Creed closed his eyes again, taking in a deep breath, despite the pain it caused due to his chest. He just wanted this evening to be over, this mission, all of this. At least for a little while...

"Are you sure you're ok Mister Creed?"

He growled a little. //Again she has to talk to me!// "Yes Birdy I'm sure, stop sounding so concerned," the last remark was a tad more snide than he'd meant it to be.

She sighed, not convinced, even a little annoyed at him for it, but her tiredness was showing through too. "Fine, just get some rest."

He muttered something about not taking orders; she couldn't help the little smirk that gave her. 

//At least that means he's feeling better I guess.//

"When do we leave?"

"Hm?" she'd gone back to go curl up in her corner and had nearly missed his question. "Oh, well we can return to the house as soon as you're on your feet. We need to come up with an alternate plan and a way to stall the Red Dragons; they're quite an impatient group."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow what?"

"We'll leave tomorrow."

She sighed slightly, but agreed. After all, the sooner they were home, the sooner she could try to fix this mess. He however, wanted to get home and away from people; he wanted to be where he could think in privacy, where he could figure this out on his own time. He didn't care about what those oriental mobsters wanted or were paying him for....hell, at the moment he really didn't care much about anything except how tired he was. And hopefully this time, his dreams would just he resting darkness.

\----

It'd taken him a week and a half to heal from his incursion with Wolverine; that was a record for a simile flesh wound, to say the least. Birdy was driving him nuts, demanding that he get a full medical check to figure out what was wrong, but every time his answer was a growling, and on a few occasions a roaring, no to it; there was no doubt that that sort of thing would reveal his current...."problem" and there was no way he was letting that little bit of information get out anymore than it already had.

But that was three weeks ago. They'd been home for about a month. Birdy was stuck coming up with alternate plans to getting to their target, which he kept finding ways of turning down. She also had to keep coming up with excuses for the clients as to why the job hadn't been finished yet. Between planning, and covering, and hunting all over the house to eventually find her boss curled up in a bathtub somewhere to tell him his food was done, to just breathing for her own sake; it was driving her insane! The entire thing was taking a very high toll on her; she actually started to wish she could take a vacation.

She wasn't the only one working hard though. Sabertooth was also dealing with his own little problems, just not when she was around. At night, after the exhausted Birdy would've slunk off to bed, he'd come down and start searching for the woman from Rio. She was the only thing he had left that could answer his question. But every night, he came up with nothing; of course it wasn't much help that his memory was starting to fade too. His appetite had returned though, which was good, yet not that helpful to his quest.

"Hey Birdy!" he managed to garner her attention, despite the mouthful he had. "There anymore of this stuff?"

She sigh-growled, nearly pulling her hair out of her head as he asked, yet again for more food. "Depends, what is it this time Mister Creed."

She was sitting in the dining room, making full use of the usually vacant cherry wood table's space by covering it with layers of papers with printouts and diagrams and hand scribbled notes across every writeable surface. She was still trying to work on the job for the _Hong se Long_ , still holding them off with vague excuses. While what was he doing? He was in the kitchen, at the island, doing who knows what out of her sight.

//Well at least he's out of that stupid tub,// she mentally grumbled to herself.

"I'm not sure...some form of meat…or noodles maybe..."

She growled, and some how managed to find a partially empty piece of paper out of her mess, and clicked her pen out to start, once again, scenario writing.

"Whatever happened to "my cooking is poison"?!"

"Oh, it still is," she looked up and found him in the doorway, eating out of a Ziploc container, barely dressed-as he'd become accustomed to lately-but still, standing at least, and if she hadn't been so tired and frustrated, she would've laughed at the "domestic-ness" of the scene. "It's better than gravel."

"Oh haha, I forgot to laugh," she muttered, looking back down to her sheets, interlacing the fingers of her non-dominant hand in between her blonde locks, once again threatening to rip them out by their roots in her frustration.

He wound his way over to her, passing behind, chancing a peek down at her workings as he bit into another fork full. "Still on that hu?"

She wanted to slam the pen down, she wanted to scream at him. But instead she controlled her anger, and very slowly laid the pen down, then folded her hands very calmly on the table top.

"Why of course I'm still on this. Remember, those nice cut throat Chinese men paid us to kill their little Cajun thief, and if we don't do it soon they'll send a hoard of their stupid little ninjas here to skin us alive and take our scalps back to their boss on meat platters," her voice became slightly cracked towards the end, what with her nearing a breakdown and all.

Creed considered her words for a moment or two, taking another bite in the meantime. "Hu, well that sounds like it'll suck for you."

That line wanted to make her scream at him, but she instead took a deep, calming breath. "Yes, yes it does."

"Alright then," and he started to leave the dinning room with his leftovers, but before he left he turned back towards her in the doorway. "When you're done with that though, come on upstairs. I need you to look at something."

She sighed, the tension draining; any distraction would be welcomed at this point. "What do you need me to look at?"

"The thing you were higher to," he growled a bit with those words, but just because it should've been obvious. But then he turned and headed on upstairs.

Birdy sighed again and rested her head flat on the paper littered tabletop. "Why me?" she asked no one in general.

The next few minutes were spent with her head hitting the table top in banging succession; it didn't really help any she knew that, but at this point she hardly cared anymore. After a few bangs she sighed, just sitting there bent over the table, just half wishing she could go oblivious at that moment. But then the little pin-prick at the back of her neck reminded her that she still had a job to do; her real job, not all of this meaningless paperwork. So she sucked up the last bits of her tired frustration, then got up and headed for the stairwell to the second floor.

\----

While she had been in her restrained breakdown, Creed had been left to his own devises. He'd actually realized the night before that he was failing in his search, and his memory was fading. He just couldn't hold onto the one memory he needed when other older ones were trying to haunt him...alright, he'd actually realized this a while ago, but had been reluctant to let the psychic traipse through his head, least she discovered the real reasons he was putting himself at a distance from the world. But now, he was really running out of options. He knew he could steer Birdy in the right direction in his head, so he hoped that would be enough.

So while Creed waited on her, he started to fill the tub with soap and water; true he was feeling less tired and pain filled at this point, but he still woke up stiff when he finally did these afternoons. He refused to notice himself in the mirror as he disrobed, refused to really give it any acknowledgement. The less he thought about it, the less real it seemed after all. There wasn't anything wrong with him, nothing was out of the ordinary, it was simply just another problem that needed to fixed. And yet...something panged...panged? No that wasn't right, it couldn't be.

He shook off those half formed sentimental thoughts and got into the low basined tub, letting the hot waters wash over him. Now that was a good feeling; he'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be in the tub with the water in it like this. It was calming, very very relaxing. He almost wished he could just rest back and let it all over take him...

The door click brought him back to his senses though; he couldn't stifle the growl there.

"Your timing's impeccable Birdy," he grumbled, sitting up more straight within his bath. "Well, get on over here."

She nodded, shaking off her stupor. Maybe it was just because of her fatigue, but something...something just felt...off? She couldn't place it, but ever since his collapse in the study and she'd seen...she'd been looking at him differently, which made him angry whenever he caught her at it. But something told her she should being doing, that something was actually wrong with her employer...she couldn't place why or what made her feel this...instinct maybe? Naw...couldn't be, that would have to take into account some other personal factors, wouldn't it?

But she shook that off; now wasn't the time to try to figure out her weary mental ramblings. Right now, she was needed. So she came around the edge of the tub and sat at it's edge right beside his head.

"So what am I looking for? Do you need me to finally take away the memory that..."

He snarled and grabbed her by the waist, nearly tossing her half way across the room; it took every ounce he had not to react in that way. Now was not the time to throw her around, now he did actually need to use her...that and as the thought crossed his mind something in him tightened into a hard knot causing him pain. She saw that flicker across his eyes, she wasn't fully sure of the reason for it, but she saw it for what it was.

Slowly he let her go, his hand cracking slightly as he growled, "You stay away from that part of my mind, you hear me Birdy."

She nodded slowly, not moving away, not looking away. "Of course Mister Creed."

He nodded, trying to control his anger, trying to fight back that knotted pain.

"What do you need me for then?"

"I need you to find someone for me, in my head," he tapped his temple to emphasize the point, though it wasn't necessary. "Someone I met in Rio."

//Rio again?// She nodded, not reflecting her thoughts. "Got the memory in mind then I take it."

He growled a little. "Of course I do. Don't need you traipsing through where you aren't welcome," alluding to her earlier inquisition and warning at the same time not to try to find that particular memory.

She just nodded, understanding. She then placed her hands over the top of his head, and the pink energy started to flow from her into him. He partially sigh-growled letting it's warmth engulf him, engulf them as they went into the recesses of his mind...

"So what are we looking for Mister Creed?" 

He turned around, finding her standing there in the darkness in her blue haired astral form. He smirked as her now yellowed eyes searched the area, but found nothing out of sorts.

"You'll see Birdy," was the only smug answer he gave as suddenly the darkness lit up, and the scene became that rinky dink bar in Rio.

She gasped, amazed at the level of control he was having; normally she had to guide them through his mind, even when he had specific thoughts in mind. She shook off the wonder though, and became more alert as she surveyed the scene starting to play out before her; the foreign blonde approached Sabertooth at the bar, the half veiled attempt at flirting between the two, then ultimately their exit together.

"So what do you think Birdy?" Creed asked from beside her; oddly, it wasn't that strange to watch the events from a third person perspective.

"I think you weren't nearly drunk enough," she said a bit coldly.

He couldn't help the chuckle at that. "You almost sound jealous Birdy."

She scowled at him now, crossing her arms with a rather perused look in her eyes. "Why am I here again then?"

"I need to find her," he pointed over to the blonde woman in the see through blood red dress. "It's very important that I do."

"More important than a paying job?" she raised an eye brow at him as she accused that.

He wasn't sure how to interpret that accusation, so instead he growled, narrowing his pupil less eyes at her warningly. "Just do it Birdy."

"Fine," was her sharpened reply, and then the scene faded back to darkness.

\----

Birdy wasn't sure why she was even doing this. It wasn't important to their job at hand, and from the way he was acting it wasn't some personal vendetta either. So why had her boss sent her on a wild goose chase. More importantly, why was she even doing it? Simple answer actually, though she'd never admit to it. She was doing it because he'd asked her to. Pure and simple.

"Mister Creed, you might want to come and see this," she called into the next room.

He came when she called; normally he probably would've ignored her, but with the possibility that she'd found something made him forget his egotistical pride. "What is it Birdy?" he came around her chair and stood behind her, looking at the laptop screen she was working on.

"Hold on a moment," she hit a few keys and now what was on her screen, was projected upon the full wall sized screen across from her seat at the dinning room table. "I've got a bit of good news, and a few bits of bad news boss."

It was the "bad news" comment that made him bristle with a low growl. "Just tell me what you found woman."

She nodded and brought up a video file. "I couldn't locate your mystery woman in any local or foreign passport registries..."

//No shit Sherlock, where did you think I went looking first.//

"But I did manage to hack into some security footage."

"Hold up there," he interjected. "The bar and the motel had no cameras, that's why I chose them. I'm not an idiot."

"I'm not saying you are or were," she spat slightly, then quickly retracted it. "What I am saying is the bank you two love birds passed by on the walk to the motel did."

"Oh...well, what did you find then," he growled, slightly humbled by her statement, but made it look more like agitation.

"Something you're not going to like..." she very nearly hesitated in showing him her findings, but she'd already basically set herself up for this; she started the clip.”You see here," she paused and blew up the image, enhancing it. "I found you...but not her."

He stepped away from behind her, and went towards the large screen. He studied every inch of the scene before him, trying to figure it out, trying to make sense of it. But something...something wasn't right, something inside him squirmed-something besides the something he was refusing to acknowledge existed-when he came to the realization.

"Who is that," he pointed to the other form in the picture and looked back to her, eyes hard and emotionless.

She tabbed the video file down, and brought up another file. "His name is Karl Maram. He's listed as being a psycho-kinetic. He can read a person's thoughts, tap into their desires, and project them in a metaphysical state that appears only to the person he's targeted. They call him "The Genie"."

He shook his head, not wanting to believe that, not able to believe that. "But you saw her too, when you went into my head. You saw her Birdy!"

"I saw your memory..." she sadly admitted. "I saw what you saw, or..."

"Believed I saw," he snarled, clenching his fists tightly. "Believed what I thought was happening when something quite different was."

The pain in his voice let her connect it in an instant; why he'd relieved that particular memory when he'd collapsed...some part of him must've known that the incidents were similar. And then it hit her fully; all this time, the reason why he was acting the way he was, why something seemed so wrong...because it was. Despite Sabertooth's outwardly anger and rage and arrogance, inside he was a broken man, who'd been used and abused. She knew this for a very long time, but it'd never really mattered until now, never really made any sense.

"Victor..." she started to get up.

He snapped his eyes on her, the pain there being shoved aside for anger; was she feeling pity for him again? Pity was the last thing he wanted or needed right now, least of all from her. What he wanted...no, what he needed was revenge.

"Find him."

"What?"

"Find that bastard. I want to know where he is now if not sooner!"

"But Mister..."

"This isn't up for debate Birdy!" he was practically roaring. "Everything else can wait! You find him now, or so help me..."

The rage, the pain, the anger, and all the other emotions coursing through him were just all too evident in his eyes, in his stance, and he wasn't even trying to mask it. She wasn't sure if that frightened her more or not, the fact that he wasn't even attempting to control it. This was a real glimpse into him...

He snarled now, turning and stalking out towards the entrance to the room. "You have less than an hour Birdy!"

\---- 

LA bars were the fastest and quickest around. Maybe not the wildest or funnest-that was reserved for a few Austrian bars he knew of-but fast was always good. Fast meant several oppertuities in half the time. And right now, the dark haired, dark skinned man was perusing the playing field for his next notch. His amber slited eyes read more than just the faces in the crowd, they also read their auras; seeing what their desires were, what made them tick. Ah the joys of of his mutanthood.

Over the rim of his second margarita he spotted him; a slender, 5'2" High School kid who'd snuck in with his brother's ID. He was sel assurant, but deep down he was just a scared little boy. He would definately enjoy a couger, he decided; a maternal older woman to give him that thrill of a one night stand. Perfect. He finished his drink and was about to head on over to the young man, already pictureing what he'd look like to his prey. Too bad he didn't get to try it out.

"Well, well, we meet again it seems."

He turned and his blood turned to ice. "How do you...but you can't..."

Next thing he knew, The Genie was being thrown into the back alley of the bar by a very angry Sabertooth. Maram looked up, swallowing hard as the larger man stood over him with hatefilled eyes, cracking his knuckles.

"Remember me punk," Creed snarled, his eyes daggers.

"I'm surprised you knew it was me," he tried to keep his cool, but his fear ran off him so strongly it clogged his sense of smell. "I take it Rio ended badly for you."

He practically roared as he grabed up the offending man and rammed him hard into the opposing brick wall; several bone cracked as well as the red stone splintered under that force. He was seeing red, as he breathed hottlky into the man's face, just inches from him; he cracked his free hand, reminding his prey of his claws and waht they could do at any instant he wished.

"You don't even know who I am, do you punk," he seethed, pressing harder, nearly crushing his prey's windpipe. "Why me? Why single me out and do...do that to me!"

Despite his situation, despite the fact he probably wasn't going to make it out of this alley alive, he smirked. "All I did was grant your wish."

That just sent him over the edge. "My wish?! How the hell would you fucking me and knocking me up be any sort of wish of mine!!" He was given no answer, just that smirk; he snarled. "I'm not a faggot you bastard!"

But Maram just continued to smirk. That made Creed even angrier. Birdy had said that this "Genie" could get into your head, make you see and feel things; he hated those who invaded him, physically or mentally, and this...this worthless nothing had done both! He deserved to die..no he deserved to be slowly tortured until he wished he were dead. The phsychic must've senn that, whether from being in his mind, or just the degree of hatred in his eyes; the smirk began to ebb.

"But maybe you are..." a sadistic grin crept across Sabertooth's lips, drawing them back to show his sharpened fangs. "I do think that's worth investigating."

But there was more to it than that, he could see that. Despite the fact it was pointless, the smaller man pleaded. "You really wouldn't hurt the father of your-"

Sabertooth cut him off with a final crack to his neck, snapping the spine exactly clean in half at it's most vital nerve; it was too quick and painless for him, he refused to hear him say it-he hadn't even realized that a few moments ago he'd admitted it after all. He growled at himself now, amd that his rage hgad gotten the better of him this time.

"So much for one good turn deserves another," he mumbled throwing the body down onto the ground, planning to just walk away, but the an idea hit him and he slowly turned back looking down at the crumpled body. "You know...one charred up piece of meat looks about the same as any other..."

\----

He'd been gone for nearly a week now; she'd lost track of where he was too. Usually she wouldn't care, he knew what he was doing after all, heck she'd enjoy the piece and quiet...if there was any to be found. The Red Dragons kept bothering her daily for a progress report, or results, and excuses were starting to run few and far between. With him gone and out of the house, she was trying to use that as the excuse, or pass it off that he was doing their job instead of one for himself...but then they demanded daily reports on his whereabouts or his actions. And that was something she just couldn't give them.

"I know you already..." she was locked in another verbal battle with the Red Dragon's leader; too bad half the time she was unarmed.

The man cut her off speaking in quick angry bursts of Chinese. She growled, from exasperation, and crossed her arms, waiting for this outburst to end. But it dragged on for minutes...this was nota good sign.

"Hey, what'd you chink say about my mother now?"

All eyes went fast to the doorway into the dinning room, and as if fate itself were on her side, there was her boss. He actually looked clean and crisp for once, even in his usual outrageous costume, albeit a trench coat on over it, but enough of the trademark was there. He sauntered right in front of the large viewing screen and slung down the balck bag he had over his shoulder, and it thudded with several sharp cracks and crunches.

"Miss me sweet heart?" he shot a sharp toothed grin Birdy's way;she was torn between wanting to "kiss or kill" him at that moment.

"Ah, Mister Creed, how good of you to fianlly join us," Chao cut into their moment before she could choose a side. "Pleasant trip I take it?"

"Oh shut up," he growled, turning his attention back to the screen now. "No pleasesntries, just business. You hate my guts, and I hate yours. Just give me my money and we can both get on with our lives."

Birdy smirked; she might've rebuked this behavior before, but after the past few weeks of dealing with these pompus gangsters, she was glad someone was giving them the what's for...especially that it wasn't her.

Chao looked displeased, but didn't let it into his tone. "Very well, when you have delivered us proof of..."

Sabertooth untied and dumped the bag now; a pile of charred flesh and bone spilt out upon the table. Remnants of red clothing were barely distinguishable admists the burnt skin and sinew. But even in the mess of it all, one specific piece of skin was what mattered; it too was burnt but very clearly there was a darker mark upon it that almost seemed spade shaped...

"Are you certain that this is your mark?"

He glared at his electronic cilent. "You think I'd waste my time killing the wrong person?"

"No, I do supose not," te oriental man considered it for a few moments, what this would mean. "Thank you Mister Creed. The rest of your commission..."

"Yeah, yeah, now go away," and he cut the connection again.

Now that his need to parade was over, he collapsed into one of the dinning chairs. Birdy had been smirking at the whole display, but now that he'd let it drop, she saw what was really going on and it worried her.

"Mister Creed, are you..."

"Take care of that mess, would you," he halfly waved to the mess on the table. "I'm sick of looking at it."

She looked at the pile of bones, then looked back to him. "That's not the target is it." 

He refused to look at her, holding his temple with his hand now, eyes closed.

"It's that mutant from Rio, the one that..."

"Just clean it up Birdy," he growled a little tiredly. "Just clean it up."

That was the second closest she'd ever heard him ask for her help. She silently nodded, and went over to clear off the table, pushing the remains back into the bag they'd arrived in. All the while she did watch him from the corner of her eye. He knew she was, and at this point didn't care. Birdy left with the bones in their bag then returned with a wet cloth to wash off any dust that had been left. Still he sat there in silence, still she watched him in silence. Until the silence was broken.

"Almost a year ago, you turned down a fairly easy job, with no excuse, and locked yourself away for a good week."

He didn't give her any verbal answer, but he did look up to her.

"And about 280 days later you were in Rio," she looked at him now. "Why does that matter?"

So she had seen his pages just as Wolverine had; she'd known this entire time. Somehow, he thought he would be too angry beyond words, yet...was this relief? She might not have known-known, but she knew there was something wrong...and she'd still stood with him, put up with him, and hadn't questioned. Her pity wasn't pity....it was really concern? It seemed impossible, and yet...

"It's easier to show you," he sat up with a deep breath, and then pulled another dinning chair to be parallel to his. "Sit."

Birdy came around the table and did as he'd asked...yes asked sounded like the right word. After she sat he reached forward and took her petite hands into his larger, hairy hands and guided hers to his head. She got the picture and they both closed their eyes together as the warm pink energy lulled them both into "the glow".

\----

_A Few Decades Earlier..._

The pain, it was excruciating now. It'd started some hours ago, but he'd been able to hide it for a time. Now though, it even had him wanting to scream. The guards had noticed his change in behaviors, and were quickly ordering technicians with sedatives to come; it was time. He couldn't let this happen, he couldn't let them win. There was no way he was going to let them take him without a fight, even in the pain he was.

Fortune, or dumb luck, smiled though. As soon as the guards had the door to his cell unlocked the alarms went off. Momentarily dazed, he took it as an opportunity to run the pair of them through with his claws. The technician that'd arrived freaked and in trying to run away, instead ended up with an angry Sabertooth tearing cleaning into his spine for no other reason than he just wanted to.

He was panting now, more than he should have from just this quick rip through them session; then there was another sharp spark of the pain in his middle. He growled low, gripping himself with one hand and pulling himself up with the other. No...it wasn't going to end like this, not here, not by their rules. Foot steps from the other end of the hall told him reinforcements were arriving, and against his usual judgment, he ran away from them, for an exit. One of the foot soldiers must've caught the tail sight of him because now they were running after him too.

Again though, dumb luck rolled his way. At a four way cross section of halls he went one way, without stopping, without trying to figure out which was the way out; quickest way between two points was a straight line though, right? Someone had once said that...When those soldiers got to the cross section though they paused and at that second half of the complex exploded. Sabertooth took just a moment to look back at that devastation, smirking slightly at the carnage. But the smirk faded fast as another sharp pain stabbed through him, and he turned to find his escape once more.

An emergency exit lay unguarded but not unlocked. Without a second hesitation he smashed through the double plaited glass. He emerged bleeding, shards of the crystalline sand imbedded into his skin, but he was still outside. And as soon as he realized that, he caught a scent; Wolverine. His vision snapped to where most of the outer damage to the laboratory was and he saw the faint figure running. He snarled; every inch of his being wanted to chase after the man, to tear him to shreds, for forcing this pain upon him. And then he saw the soldiers running after him.

No, he would serve as the distraction. No one would notice that he was missing until later...it would give him more time. Sabertooth panted, but stiffly picked himself off, shaking a bit of the glass off. And then he was on the move again; running seemed to keep the pain away...for now. He didn't know for how long he'd been running before the worst of the pain short through him; it caused him to falter and fall to the ground in agony. His growl was more of a whimper, but he still forced himself up. Not here, not yet...they could still track him, they could still find him...he was too exposed.

He couldn't run now, but he didn't stop moving. The pains were sharper, and quicker; he held himself very tightly trying not to let them over take him again, but it was getting harder. Then again, dumb luck welcomed him with open arms; there in the middle of the wood was a little log house. It'd clearly been abandoned for quite some time, so it might have been dirty, but it was safe. So he made his way there, barely making it into the house.

It was very sparse and dusty in there, but at the moment none of that mattered. He just wanted the nightmare to end. He stumbled from the main room into the closest door he could, the bathroom. A large old fashioned "clawed foot" tub took up most of the room, so he rolled into that as another sharp piercing pain shot through him. This time he couldn't stifle the yowl it drove from his lips, the inhuman sound that it was. The sickly sweet scent of blood suddenly found itself to his senses and when he looked down he saw the cause of it; the bottom of the smock the technicians had their "test subjects" wear was soaking along the bottom hem, more so in the back. He was bleeding out.

His snarl at that annoyance turned into another growling whimper as the pain was accompanied by pressure down below; more blood seeped out. He panted heavily, gripping the edges of the tub as the pain became again; this time he tried to fight against the pressure it added, to push against it. This lasted for who knows how long; the pains were sharper, the pressured refused to move, and more blood came from him, making him more tired than all this useless work was. 

But what choice did he have; at this point he wasn't in control...they were. Even though they weren't there, they were still pulling the strings. They'd put him into this situation and there was no way he could get out of it except to go through it; whether it killed him or not.

The last attack was one of the worst and the longest; it felt as if something was tearing its way out of him. Once it past he collapsed partially into the tub, finally releasing his death grip from its edges, leaving deep dents into the metal. His breathing slowly began to calm down, and during that he didn't even realize that the pains had stopped. Once he had finally regained his mindset he took notice of it, and slowly pulled himself stiffly out of the tub.

The bottom of it was lined with his blood, streaks following the tail he used to pull himself up. But at the one end there was a small little form, pale and also covered in the sticky red liquid. It wasn't moving, it wasn't alive. This was the best outcome he could've happened; what a way to screw those bastards over for using him like that, by handing them the rotted fruits of their labor...labor...that had come out of him, hadn't it...

He shook his head; he couldn't think that way, he wouldn't. This wasn't him, this was their fault too. They made him do this, they made him feel this. And yet...that little thing there...He shook his head again and turned away not looking back as he left. It was just another piece of proof that he really wasn't worth any good to anyone...after all, what sort of worthy person would just leave their son cold and alone in a bath tub in the middle of nowhere.

\----

As they slipped out of the trance, there were tears. Birdy had tears rolling down her cheeks, never having ever believed that this man, this cold blooded murder, could ever have had something like that happen to them; the physical and emotional pain...she may have only been an observer but they still felt so real. She looked up to him, through her water logged blue orbs and saw they very faint tears stains on his cheek as well; so the great Sabertooth had even shed a tear for that particular memory. That just made her want to embrace him, comfort him, take away the pain, even more.

But when he finally let go of her hands, she knew that that would never happen. He may have shed the tears, but it had changed nothing. No...that wasn't entirely true, something had changed; there was a level of understanding, a level of...something close to trust. He'd let her in on the secret, of his own free will, and she'd accepted it, as well as everything else about him, she was still there.

"You saw what they did back then," his voice cracked slightly, but the growl obscured it. "What they made happen, and what it caused."

She nodded, understanding, despite the fact that he never said it specifically.

"It could happen again every 280 days. Normally I'd stay locked up to avoid it, but last time I forgot and..."

"And it happened," she finished for him. "In Rio."

Creed nodded. "Unintentionally," this growl had a note of warning to it.

"I know. But you don't look..."

He closed his eyes, recalling that other memory. "They put it to my back so I wouldn't. It was done on purpose that way."

She nodded, it made sense. There was silence for a little between them. Birdy was thinking, thinking about all of this. He just waited on her, waiting for her reaction. Finally she looked back up to, a finalization in her clear blue eyes; one that a small part of him was hoping would be in his favor,

"So what do we do now then boss?"

He sighed, in relief, in uncertainty, and in everything in between. "We'll see."

\----

The following days, weeks actually, went by not that differently than if none of this had ever happened. Birdy went about her day normally, doing the cooking and cataloguing. She made possible clients schedule a meeting farther ahead than normal, but if any of them had a problem with that, they wouldn’t have come to them after all. When she wasn’t working on that though, she was searching through old news papers on file, though not when he was around, and she never let on that she was.

Not that he would’ve noticed. He was keeping more to himself upstairs. It didn’t matter that she knew now, he was still exposed, even if it was to the one person he partially trusted. He kept it to himself, and did his math over sheets and sheets of paper. There wasn’t much longer until…

There came a knock at the door. He looked up from his latest string of writings as she came in.

“What do you want Birdy,” he growled, covering up the sheet in his lap as she came over.

“In the tub again I see,” she observed, crouching down at its edge. “What’re you working on?”

His only offered answer was a growl.

“Fine, I just thought you’d like to see this,” she offered him a few print outs.

Creed took them, and flipped through them quickly, “What is all of this supposed…” then went back to really look after seeing the last page.

The first page was a Xerox of an old news article from a Canadian paper; it talked about how there was an explosion in the middle of the night at the local research facility. He knew what that was about, but the smaller article underneath…in smaller print with no accompanying photo was a story about how a local woman had rescued an abandoned child in the same woods. It was asking if anyone in town had any information about the child.

The next page was a few years younger than the first, another article about the local little league, but that local woman’s name was there in part; apparently one of those boys belonged to her. The third page was still younger than the other two; it was about the same kid, in high school, something about a drunk driving accident and how he was the only survivor…The fourth was a wedding announcement for the kid, a few years old; he looked to have gotten himself a pretty decent girl.

But the last page was a full write up dosie’ of the kid. His name was Vincent Kelvner, he was in his 30s, and a widower as of last spring. His family history listed only his adopted mother; biological parents were unknown.

“This…”

“He was alive,” she whispered. “I started thinking, and I realized that there was a small chance that…”

“Why show me this,” he growled now, his anger catching up to his thoughts now, the numbness leaving. “What made you think that giving me proof that that thing had survived was any sot of a good idea”

“That thing was your son and I thought-“

She didn’t even get a chance to finish her thought. Sabertooth hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her down into the basin with him, and twisted enough to pin her down to the bottom, his claws at her throat now, just inches from choking the life from her. The whole reaction had startled her and she’d not had any time to even attempt to counter it; her life was now literally in his hands and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Don’t say that,” he hissed, though it pained him; the pain was in his eyes, the emotional pain that is. “Don’t ever call it that…call him that…”

He let go of her windpipe, and fell a little bit onto her, seeing as the floor of the basin wasn’t wide enough for them both to be on it side by side. His weight crushed her a little bit, but she ignored it, more concerned with what he was doing now; he tried to muffle it, but he couldn’t fully cover up the dry sobs.

“Victor…” she said softly, trying to reach over to touch his shoulder.

He pulled away a bit the first time, but then just shook his head, still refusing to look at her. “Why tell me about him?”

Birdy sighed; she’d been so sure this was the right thing to do a few minutes ago. “He survived, he had a good life.”

“So you thought rubbing that in my face was a good idea?” he snarled to cover the cracking in his voice.

“I thought maybe that was the best place for this one.”

He looked at her now, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Birdy just sighed again.

“We both know you won’t be keeping this child,” it was the most obvious statement in the world; but that it was said out loud…it felt sort of wrong. “So who better would there be for it to go to.”

Creed looked away; that made sense. “What if it’s a dud too?”

“He wasn’t a “dud”,” she reminded. “But if that happens, then we won’t need to worry, now will we.”

There was silence for a few moments between them. Whether it was filled with thinking, or considering, or just blankness…then he broke it.

“I’m not going to do it,” he managed to get up without crushing her and climbed out of the inset tub.

That actually surprised her; she was sure he’d jump at the idea on pawning this baby off so easily. She got up, trying to go after him, to reason with him.

“But Mister Creed…”

“Can it Birdy,” he growled a little looking back to her from the doorway. “You can take it to him, I ain’t. End of story.”

She just stopped, watching him go down the hall now; that worked the way she’d hoped, but something just felt wrong about it…

\----

The next few days were the same…yet there seemed to be a bit of a strain she thought. She spent the days tracking down the whereabouts of Vincent; the more she looked, the more she learned and was surprised at how similar the two men were. Admittedly, they were really nothing alike what with Creed being a blood thirsty killer most of the time, and Vincent seemed like a normal golden boy. But their looks, theirs tastes in small things…she could see how he was his son. And when she came to that realization, it saddened her a little.

Here was a great kid, one who’d had a great life, was a great guy, and he’d never know where he came from. Then she thought about it, and realized it was probably better it happened this way…he only turned out decent because he was abandoned and found by someone good. Hopefully the same would happen for the second time…then that thought saddened her too; here was a second chance, and it was just being passed up.

Of course, then she had to remind herself who the mother was here; this was the best out come for all involved. Still, a small part of her did wish…

A roar came through the house early in the morning hours. Birdy was still up, searching on the data bases, but the moment she heard that, she knew. She quickly ran up the stairs, and flew into the bedroom without announcing herself.

But the room was empty. She froze for a moment, but then noticed the fluttering of the curtains. She stepped over and looked onto the balcony; there he was.

“That wake you,” he said simply, looking out onto the scenery in the dark.

“I’m sorry, I heard and I thought…”

Then she noticed the little bit of blood she’d just slightly stepped into. She looked up quickly to him, afraid again.

“You’re…”

“I think I know Birdy.” He growled, gripping the railing of the balcony as another pain shot through him. “Been going on a few hours now.”

“Then we need to get you to a medical environment, so I…”

“So you can what,” he turned enough to look back to her now.

“Well…I don’t know, it’s not like you’re running through the woods this time. There are other ways for you to…”

He actually chuckled at that, which tapered off into another small growl. “Birdy, I don’t trust you with a knife even if my life depended on it.”

“Well…” she couldn’t come up with any sort of rude come back. “It could, you know,” it fell flatly with her concern.

“I’m touched Birdy,” he managed some sarcasm despite the pain tearing through him at the moment. “But I think I can handle it on my own again.”

“I don’t doubt that, it’s just…well, you don’t have to.”

Creed nodded and looked back out to the scenery. “I know Birdy. Just…hang around, and don’t go anywhere you hear.”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t have it any other way Mister Creed.”

\----

It took hours. Long, agonizingly painful, and loud, hours until it was over. And she stayed with him the entire time, which he was grateful for-though he'd never admit it; without her, he might not've made it. And when it ended, there was still screaming, but it wasn't from them; there was no mistaking that the baby was alive this time. Birdy had gone off with it quickly, following his order too, and then he passed out so he hadn't seen it yet. Of course, he didn't want to either. If he'd had his way, she'd have left that night with the infant to go leave it on it's brother's doorstep, but she was having none of it. So the two were given a week to heal and adapt, before it'd happen.

And tonight marked the eve. Creed had been keeping to himself as usual, staying clear of his assistant and her little pet project. But tonight...something just told him he needed to come out and see them. He quietly crept down the stairs, listening for their sounds, looking for their scents; he found them sitting in the living room. He stood in the doorway, watching her from behind; there seemed something so different about Birdy here, like this...it wasn't bad though it seemed....right.

She was sitting, feeding the little baby in her arms. She smiled down at the little innocent thing wrapped in a towel like she was; they hadn't gone out and gotten any real baby stuff after all. She'd been lucky enough to go off one afternoon to get the bare essentials like formula, and a pair of bottles, and diapers, all of which were almost gone. That was good though; meant there'd be no sign left of the baby's presence once it was gone.

And that thought made Birdy sigh. She put the bottle down and rested the baby oh her shoulder, just wanting to hold it close.

"I'm sorry sweetie," she said softly to it, rubbing its back gently, tenderly. "You know if I could, I'd keep you in a heart beat, you're such a sweet little girl. It's just..." she sighed again and lowered the child, holding her carefully and lightly brushing her little wispy blonde hair, looking into those big amber eyes. "You'll be happier with your new family. This isn't any place for a sweat heart like you, you know."

The baby just blinked at her curiously. Birdy couldn't help but smile at her.

"And if I could I'd just take you away from here and keep you all to myself. Live normally for once, with the picket fence and the dog and you."

Something in him knotted up at those words, but he stayed silent; was she really considering leaving him? Hell, she could leave at anytime; he'd fired her before and she hadn't left though...but that was because she'd had nothing to go to...

"But I can't."

Those words brought him out of it, and actually surprised him.

"I belong here, with your daddy," that word made him want to growl, but he bit his tongue to listen to the rest of what she was saying. "He'd never admit it, but he does get lonely, and some part of him does sort of wants things to be normal like I do, but for us...this is normal. And as much as we'd want to keep you, we can't. We love you so much, and that's why you'll be better off with your brother. I have a feeling he'll be a good daddy for you, just as good as your real one."

Again, the little girl just looked up at her, not really understanding. But it didn't matter to Birdy; she was really the one that needed the convincing after all. After a few minutes the baby yawned and started to get sleepy eyed. She got up with her, picking up the earlier discarded bottle. As she turned though she was surprised to see her employer standing there.

"How long have you been standing there."

"Just got here," he lied. "What're you doing here, shouldn't you be taking the brat to the air port by now."

She scowled at the gruffness of his chosen words. "No, I am not. We're not getting on a plane," she moved past him to go towards the kitchen.

"Oh you're not are you," he followed her. "What, you're going to air mail it then."

Birdy growled now and shoved the bottle into the sink. "It takes a passport to get on a plane, and she doesn't have one. So we're going by car."

He suppressed the chuckle. "You're driving, with a kid in the backseat."

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"Actually, I do. So I'm coming with."

Her jaw almost dropped there. Hadn't he said that he didn't want to have anything to do with the baby or his son.

"So you better have the car packed and know where we're going tomorrow, because I might just leave without you, you hear."

She only nodded, still a bit surprised by the sudden change of plan. Creed turned and headed out now; it'd been a while since he was outside, and out there, no one would be able to find and ask him what the hell he was thinking.

\----

It was a nice enough little place, off the beaten path. Vincent Kelvner had spent his whole life here, always lived in the small town atmosphere where everyone knew everyone else. So expect the surprise when one day there seemed to be this strange woman following him around town. She'd picked up his trail where he worked at the general store, and she'd followed him through out his errands in the afternoon. It was actually very weird, and everyone noticed. But after he'd left the post office, she was gone.

It was hours later now, and the darkness of evening had set in. Across the street Birdy was there, holding the baby girl wrapped up tightly. Soon Creed came to her side, dressed in a dark trench coat instead of his usual costume.

"He's home alone," he told her.

She nodded and started to cross the rood. But he grabbed her arm and held her back.

"What're you..." she looked to him questioningly.

"I'll do it."

That surprised her; since the day she was born, he'd never touched his daughter, let alone even really looked at her. The whole trip here, she'd handled her and taken care of her. 

"Well?" he demanded, waiting for her to hand the child over.

"But-but-"

"You can't drop and ditch quick enough," he explained. "We want to leave her there for him and not be seen, right."

She nodded, and as much as it hurt her, she handed her over; but inside, there a little brightness...that was the first time he'd referred to both his kids with a gender. He took the sleeping little girl into his arms carefully and closely.

"Go back to the car and wait for me."

She nodded. With one last light touch of the baby's head, Birdy headed back. He waited until he was sure she was gone before he moved; he took a breath and held the bundle close then crossed the street quickly, avoiding the street lamp's light. The porch on the house was fairly new, so at least it didn't make any noise as he stepped onto it. He ducked under the light shown out through the front windows, and sat crouched in front of the door for a few moments.

He looked down at the little sleeping form he held close. She really was beautiful...strange to think that something this small and delicate came from him. For a moment, Birdy's words came back to him; they could do it...maybe not the whole drop everything and be "normal" thing...No, it had to be an all or nothing. He had enemies who'd love to use something like this against him, not to mention the fact that he wasn't exactly the world's best person to raise a kid, let alone let round one. No, this was right. It was better for all involved that it ended this way.

He lightly brushed her wispy blonde hair, saying the silent good bye, and then put the bundle down. He stood up partially then banged on the door before he streaked back across the street. Once across he stood behind the non-lit side of the street lamp, watching the next events unfold.

The front door opened and the blonde man inside looked out; his icy blue eyes searching the darkness for anything. Then he heard a small little whimper and looked down and found the small little bundle at his feet.

"Well hey there," he reached down and picked it up. "What're you doing out here so late and alone?"

She whimpered a little so he held her closer. He took one last look as he stepped back, readying to close the door; it was a good thing he did or he might've missed the face in the light. It was just a moment, but he knew it meant something important. He nodded to it and closed the door, closing them off from the darkness.

Creed made it back to the car without realizing he'd been seen. Birdy was ready and waiting, and was a bit startled when he suddenly opened the back seat and climbed in. She turned around in the driver's seat enough to look at him.

"Well?"

"He has her, not our problem anymore," he stretched out across the seat.

"Are you ok?"

He growled a little, and turned away from her gaze now. "Just drive. I'd like to get home quickly so we can get back to business."

She just shook her head and turned back forward to start the car; perhaps it was better this way, like nothing had changed. But it had...not much, but somewhere deep, in a very small place, something had changed in him.

//Maybe I'll have Birdy get rid of these memories now. Might fix that little problem...yeah I think I will...//


End file.
